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The clock stroke 14:00, and the cameras turned on. It was time for another publicized presidential meeting. The chatter around the meeting table diminished when the door opened, and Abraham entered briskly.

“I hope I’m not late. My watch keeps on malfunctioning, and gives me odd hours, every time,” he apologized, sitting on the only empty chair, by Randall’s side.

The meeting office was now filled with almost entirely new recruits from Randall’s own council, picked by Abraham during the past week. Abraham noticed that the old man seemed very pleased with whom he chose, so he considered it as a test well passed.

Seemingly more at ease with his new position, President Bohm cleared his throat, and the room became silent, beside of the sound of the camera rails.

“Some of you may see that my council has undergone deep and fast reshaping. An entire council replaced within less than two months,” Bohm began for the survivors of the old presidential council, but more importantly, for the public’s knowledge. “Well, this is how my leadership work, from this moment on. We don’t sit on our asses, and do nothing when, as bright as day, corruption stand before us. We work day and night to uproot infections, and that’s what we’ve done. It took only a few days of researches to unravel all these corrupted actions of your past Presidents’ council members.

» And while evil schemed within our sacred walls, bright, young, ambitious Americani citizens, like you and I, were working in meager jobs, shoved down the pipes. Well, you’ve seen today what are my thoughts on such disrespectful actions. I’ve sworn that no man would be superior to another, faithful on the principles upon which Uni-states had once been founded upon. And I delivered. Uni-states’ hard working citizens will not be frowned upon, and here they stand, around my table.

» This, is only an overview of what, as a true president, I’m ready to do. When I promise the population something, I do it,” he finished, staring authoritatively at his old and new council members.

The new recruits applauded warmly whereas the old members applauded halfheartedly; Abraham could easily guess their fear, that their turn would soon come.

“Now,” Bohm’s tone turned even more authoritative. “I want an immediate explanation of what happened in the news five days ago. Would anyone care to explain what that Feldmarschall was warning the population about? And please don’t answer with ‘it’s a hoax’, or I’m firing you on the spot.”

“It’s not a hoax, Mr. President; it’s a man who was delusional about an event that happened twenty years ago,” one of the participants spoke out, a stern old man with various scars across his hands and face, and equally as much medals upon his colonel uniform. “Feldmarschall Teiwas is part of a joint program in the 90s that encouraged all Twelve Imperial Gnasci to work together in the event of a future World War. By working together, it was an assurance that neither of the TIG members would be responsible for such a war, as the information were automatically shared.

»… Sadly, and that’s a well-known fact, this program became quickly the opposite: it became a weapon for an authoritarian master (at the time, ex President Bermon), and became later on famous for putting the TIG soldiers under various experiments. Any of those included mental and psychological reprogramming. It took many deaths and many whistle-blowers, myself included, to finally expose this program.”

“I’ve heard of it,” Abraham said. “Wasn’t there also a Mount Radar secret project, which looks surprisingly like what Teiwas seemed to talk about in that release?”

The stern man sighed.

“Yes, there was. Mount Radar was an underground facility where weapons prototypes and a great militia force were stored until such time where it would be unleashed. That was also, thankfully, revealed under investigation when the whistle-blowers risked everything to bring it to the public’s knowledge.”

Bohm stared at the old colonel.

“Are you telling me that what we saw was a delayed release of an old news?”

“Please understand, Mr. President. Feldmarschall Teiwas and the so-called Vymana Squadron (in reality the people in his command twenty years ago), are people whose minds have been completely destroyed and affected by the secret program Ewen Project under the orders of the Authoritarian government that was in charge back then. Upon disclosure of the program, they disappeared as the Authoritarian police tried to silence the witnesses. As much as I’m glad to see they survived, it also pains me to say that they never recovered. It’s my firm belief that since you revealed yourself to be a president of honor, of justice, one that prevailed over the Authoritarian government, they instinctively reacted by coming out. ‘Revealing’ the secret of what they’ve been forced to go through. It’s just the wrong time; they probably never noticed that twenty years had passed, that the information has been already revealed.”

“And the mine they talked about?”

“Was meant to refer to Mount Radar, in Benson City. It was used as a magnetite mine, to hide the electromagnetic interference of what was hidden inside.”

“I’ve personally sent to Schwyryva a team to investigate, just in case,” a woman spoke out; Abraham recognized her as a reputed political journalist. “Found nothing but a plain magnetite mine; geolocation revealed nothing out of the ordinary in the mountains’ walls. Just stone all the way through. Upon investigation, the coordinates do point in the range of Schwyryva; but nothing’s there. However, if we keep one of the coordinates, the location we can find along that line is Mount Radar.”

“I see,” Bohm said thoughtfully, his voice calmer. “What can we do for these soldiers?”

“Not much, I’m afraid. They’ve been in hiding all this time. We can chase them and bring them back, but they’re hardcore survivors. They’ll kill themselves before getting captured: that’s what they’ve been trained to do,” the colonel answered.

“May Gaea bless their souls, then,” Bohm sighed. “I’ll pray that they find peace.”

“This is why I’ve been very strict to request, with Vice-President Griffith, that we dismantle and eradicate all Authoritarian remains that we could find,” Randall added. “Nothing good ever came from that government, and to think that our past presidents and most of all, our armies, were under such control...”

“That’s right,” Bohm acknowledged. “But for the sake of our citizens’ peace of mind, I’d like to bring to the table that there’s indeed a demilitarization going on?”

“Absolutely,” the colonel explained. “The International Federation of Gnasci calculated that in average, we own seventy percent more military forces than required for the defense of the involved countries. If the purpose is not war nor conquest, why such great amounts of militia? And so, an accord has been passed to demilitarize the excess of militia, and store them safely in specific locations until proper and secure dismantlement can be made. Recycling companies are preparing to undertake this enormous project, as the metal, components and parts can instead be re-used for peaceful purposes such as rockets for space exploration and settlements. The treaty and paperwork are being worked out and should be released very soon.”

“My sources say for the 15th September, or in three weeks,” Randall precised.

“That corresponds with my information as well,” the colonel and journalist said at the same time.

“Well, thank you for the clarification. I hope it settled the population’s worries as much as it did for mine,” Bohm said softly.

“Now, to more pressing matter than a twenty-year old warning. Mr. Solomon,” Bohm’s tone softened as he turned to his Chief Advisor of Public Relations, “how’s your plan advancing, for the economical restructuring?”

“We have eighty-two percent of the money required, but some investors are still a bit reticent, due to the ambition of the project,” Abraham replied.

“My best diplomat is right now taking care of that; you can be assured that by the end of this day, we will receive the approbation of the remaining investors,” Randall added.

“We could give out right now the money, if we have it ready,” one of the new recruits suggested.

“No. Once all the money’s available, we’ll give it out for everyone at the same time. Being hasty will result in unfairness and useless discrimination,” Abraham explained.

The members nodded or affirmed their agreement.

“If I may, Mr. President, I would like to issue a warning for you but also for all our members,” Randall began.

“Of course.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, the path we have embarked upon since the election, is sadly a dangerous one. Many, out of greed and out of desire to keep their power, will oppose our generosity and our true democracy. Mr. Solomon has himself already been attacked yesterday, no doubt by a bitter opposing ex-member of this council. There will be great obstacles facing each and every one of us, but mostly, people that will try to stop our endeavours, from all positions of power, small or great. Is it your duty, citizens of Uni-states, to either report anyone whom you feel are against what you elected the AAP for, or to yourself bring down these black sheep. If there are any corporations, any leaders, anyone that is trying to bridle your freedom, it is your duty to report them to us, and we will act.”

“Well said, Mr. Redspear,” Bohm congratulated him. “That’s right, as I’ve sworn, I represent the people, and abide by the people’s choices. Any threat to that promise, and it’ll swiftly be dealt with, just like these last few days.”

Those that were left of the old presidential council looked at each other with concern.

“Now, Mr. Redspear, do you have that promised list of the controversial corporations, to which the old order was linked with?” Bohm asked pleasantly.

“Yes, Mr. President, I have it here,” Randall took a small folder from his briefcase and handed it to him.

Bohm took the time to read it through, and made some concerned whistles.

“I think it’s something the population might want to be warned about…”

Upon his sign, a camera dolly mechanically approached behind the President’s shoulders, and he carefully showed the document. The first page was written ‘The Eighteenth Directive of the Uni-states’, with below the governmental seal, a shield with twelve stripes, six white and six red ones; above the shield laid a turkey, holding an anchor in its beak. A scroll ran on top of the herald, written in archaic language: ‘Bello vel pace paratus’, or ‘Prepared in war or in peace’.

Bohm slowly turned the rest of the document’s pages, filled with lists of various names, allowing enough time to let the camera film it all. When he was done, the camera retreated back to its initial position, and Bohm gave the folder back to Randall.

“Is it all for the moment?” he asked the council, to which everyone answered in the positive.

“I will inform you as soon as my diplomat have acquired the investors’ approval,” Randall answered.

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

“Very good. Until we receive the citizens’ thoughts about the controversial corporations issue, whose decision will guide us on our response, you’re all dismissed.”

Upon those words, the council rose, shook hands, exchanged goodbyes, and left the room.

“Any special services, sir?” Abraham asked discreetly Randall.

“Not at all. Just make sure that all the media convey the exclusive discoveries of this meeting.”

“Of course,” Abraham gladly accepted.

“And try not to be late, for the next meetings,” Randall smirked.

“My apologies. My lucky watch seem to have trouble keeping the time right...” Abraham sighed, checking again and seeing that it announced 4:45 of the morning.

Doing so, he noticed out of the corner of his sight that his tie had once more changed colour. It was now deep burgundy. His brow furrowed in deep puzzlement. How could he keep changing his tie without realizing it?

**********************

As Randall left the Council Meeting, he was frowning worryingly at the news that Daniel, Ysadora’s assistant, gave him yesterday about the public disturbance at the plaza from the two unregistered strangers. He had personally sent their personal garbage disposal man, Scott Johnson, to deal with them, but he knew that man enjoyed playing with his food, so it could take days before returning with information.

Locking himself into his office overlooking the Presidential sector and the White Castle, he looked once more at the recording that Daniel left him, hoping one more run would extract answers. Who were the two strangers, clad so bizarrely, owning weapons without any matches, and especially, a completely unknown identity? And then, the way the man immediately spotted the surveillance camera, despite it being five stories in the air. Randall had a dangerous feeling when watching them; something was not right, though he couldn’t tell whether it was because of the strange mirage effect that surrounded them, or just by how they were acting. Zooming closer, he laid his eyes upon the citizen that the strangers helped. Finally knowing what to do, he sent a call to the only person he knew that could help him.

“Yes, sir?” Daniel answered.

“In the surveillance record you gave me, that citizen that the strangers were helping, the one protesting against the AAP, who is he?”

“Frank Cooper, sir. Forty-eight years old, born 9th February 1989; has an exwife, Victoria Cooper, maiden name Jones, forty-one years old, born 17th December 1996; they have two children, Anton...”

“I don’t care,” Randall sharply cut. “Go see him and ask him about everything that happened at the incident. Absolutely everything; collect all evidences and clues you can find.”

“Yes sir,” Daniel simply replied.

“Just use your usual I.D., and say that you’re investigating an unknown weapon that was fired in a public area.”

“You are mistaken, sir, it was two metal sticks that...”

“I don’t care what it was exactly, keep the story simple. People don’t care about metal sticks, but they will care if it was a gunshot. So say it’s about an unknown gunshot.”

“As you wish, sir.”

“Contact me as soon as you have everything.”

“Yes sir.”

On that, Randall hung up. He walked to the fully windowed wall of his office, and looked down at the people walking, like a shepherd overlooking his flocks. It was as if he could see the gears of the Universe through these people, and through the environment surrounding him; and in less than two days, a small gear somewhere had begun to misalign the desired mechanism he had taken so many years tuning. It was more than necessary to replace the faulty gear right away.